Taking Advantage
by SquishyCool
Summary: A 5-part Spencer/Sam story with mild sexual reference. Spencer has a very odd (and rather shameful) reoccurring experience. The thing is, it only happens in the midst of the night when he's had too much to drink and not enough bloodflow to his brain. It takes place over a course of 5 different holidays, each time getting a little more intense...
1. Christmas Eve

**Part 1  
Christmas Eve**

The first time it happened, he was drunk.

Well, not exactly drunk, but he was definitely tipsy and he'd had his fill of eggnog.

Okay, it wasn't just eggnog… He'd gone to Socko's for the first half of the day and they'd sipped beers the whole time, so he was already feeling it by the time Socko brought him home. Then he'd hit his stash of wine with Mrs. Benson, and then once she'd left, he started on the eggnog – which he'd made a separate batch of for the "adults" that was stronger than normal and that he kept away from the kids' eggnog that was non-alcoholic. And well, he didn't drink very often, so he tended to be a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

The room was getting blurry and he had a feeling he was starting to reach the tipping point, so he left the Christmas party that was commencing in his living room and slipped into his bedroom. He kicked aside his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper across the room. He fumbled with the button of his pants, finally undoing it and admitting to himself that he had probably had a little too much alcohol for Christmas Eve.

He then turned around to see what time it was. Just as he did, a flash of blonde hair caught his eye. He looked to the door to see Sam standing there, a look of mischievousness in her eyes. Her back was to the closed door and she had a cup of eggnog in her hand. He paused when he saw this because he recognized it as the adult eggnog, and hadn't he made it clear that it was just that – _adult_ eggnog?

When he realized that her eyes were trailing down his body, he remembered he was missing his shirt and his pants were unbuttoned. He looked down and moved to button them back up, but a force suddenly pushed on his chest and directed him to the side, shoving him against the wall to his right. He gasped, but his open lips were shushed when another pair of lips pressed against them.

Sam was in front of him, pushing him into the wall, holding him against it and pressing her lips against his. He had instinctively shut his eyes and ceased breathing for the moment, completely taken aback. Her unruly blonde hair was tickling his cheeks and chest, and her slender body was pressed up against his. He realized she'd set her now emptied cup of eggnog down on the floor near the door.

Slowly, he came to the realization of what was happening and gently placed his hands on her chest, pushing her back. He opened his eyes and stared down at her in shock. She stared back up at him with hungry blue eyes. Her lips were glistening in the dim light of his bedroom.

"What-what're you doing?" he stammered out in a hushed voice, finding that there was more than alcohol hindering his speech.

She placed a thin finger to his lips, shushing him, and moved it only to kiss him once more. She moved her hand to the back of his head, gripping a handful of silky hair between her fingers.

He tried not to give in, but it was useless. As Sam pressed her lips harder into his – pressing her _body_ into his just as hard – he started to kiss back. He could feel all of the blood flowing into that certain region, which wasn't making this any easier.

Without thinking, his hands wandered down to her slender hips, gripping them possessively. He was suddenly very aware of how curvy Sam had gotten over the past few years. He had already been aware of it, but without the alcohol taking away his inhibitions, he didn't like to admit to himself that he was even acknowledging the maturation of his little sister's best friend. It just seemed like territory he wasn't supposed to cross into.

But then again, she had already crossed that line.

He gave up trying to push her away and instead pulled her in closer, their bodies merging. The fabric of her striped sweater was soft against his skin.

After that, there were only bits and pieces that stuck out in his memory.

He remembered stumbling around and hushed whispers after she'd flipped off the light. He remembered slipping past the fabric of her clothes and reaching her even softer skin, marveling at how it felt beneath his fingertips. He remembered how the inside of her mouth smelled and tasted like eggnog with a hint of Captain Morgan. He remembered entwining her blonde hair between his fingers and leaving trails of kisses all up and down every part of her body that he could reach; how her skin smelled like blueberries when his nose was right up against it. He remembered the chills the sound of her quiet moans sent up his spine. He also remembered how surprised he was when he realized what kind of panties he'd just slipped off of her.

He definitely remembered the scratches her long nails left on his back, and how messy she'd left the bed. He remembered waking up a few hours later, still drunk, and finding her gone, nothing to indicate she'd even been there. For all he knew, it all could've been a dream and his own restless sleeping that left the comforter on the floor and the sheet wrapped around one of his legs.

But when he woke up, hungover, and joined his little sister and her best friend in opening Christmas presents, he decided to act like he didn't remember any of it.

Because as far as he knew, she didn't.

**to be continued…**


	2. New Year's Eve

**Part 2  
****New Year's Eve**

The second time it happened, he was passed out.

Well, at least for the beginning he was. He speculated that after about 5 minutes of her – er – _stimulating_ him, he had come to. But after that, he drifted in and out. He would've completely come to his senses instead of wavering on that line of dream/reality if he hadn't been completely trashed.

He'd spent New Year's Eve with Socko, drinking and trying to find a girl to kiss at midnight. Of course, they'd had no success (unless you count Socko's old landlady who came over and saw that it had just struck midnight and suddenly infiltrated Socko's lips with her own, to his and Spencer's disgust) and had ended up just finishing off their case of beer and a couple of small bottles of vodka before calling it a night. He then took a cab home to find his little sister and her two friends were still gone to a party they'd said they'd be at, so he called Carly (drunkenly) to check up on her, being assured she'd be home soon, and had collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

The sensations he felt in his state were odd, because he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not, and he was far too tired to find out. He just went with it whenever he could move. He didn't even remember when he'd been undressed – most likely because he was out of it for that portion.

It didn't take long for him to realize who it was and what she was doing – the long, curly hair brought back memories from Christmas Eve, and Sam's face immediately popped into his head. His room was pitch black, save for the small bit of moonlight peeking through a part in the curtains, and the glow of the alarm clock.

He remembered glancing over at one time or another and seeing numbers, but he was way too out of it to comprehend them or what they meant. He also remembered squinting up at her and seeing her move just right so that the moonlight illuminated her face for just a moment, assuring him it really was Sam. He remembered the look of pure ecstasy on her face at the time, because she was currently getting exactly what she wanted.

He remembered when she kissed him – from his chest up to his neck and then up to his lips – and how her mouth tasted like cigarettes and alcohol (with a hint of fried chicken, nonetheless). He remembered wondering, _Since when does she smoke cigarettes? _and then thinking, _Wait, if she was drinking, was Carly?_

But he quickly stopped thinking things like that because, even in his drunken state, he realized he had just thought about his sister at the worst time possible. It didn't take long for his mind to wander elsewhere… more specifically, to the pleasure down below.

He remembered taking charge for just a few minutes, but quickly being overtaken once more. He remembered mumbling something about how wrong the situation was and then feeling her small hand quickly cover his mouth and her soft voice whisper, "_Shhh!_ Carly's asleep in the living room…"

He remembered the soft skin of her neck being pressed up against his mouth and nose, and how there was still that hint of blueberries, like last time, but it was mostly covered up this time by the smell of cigarette smoke and beer and something else he couldn't identify at the time.

He remembered forcing himself to wake up a little more, but failing as the alcohol in his system took over and he continued to drift in and out, still unsure that it wasn't just some lucid wet dream. He remembered the final moment causing shivers all throughout his body and draining him of what tiny bit of energy he had, his hips thrusting upward and his hands fumbling to grip her small hips.

He didn't remember anything after that – her getting up, her getting dressed, or her saying anything else to him. But he did remember waking up for a few seconds and recognizing the sound of the shower going in the bathroom, and then fading back into his deep, drunken sleep.

The next day, he woke up naked. Assuring himself that last night had just been a lucid dream – because it was far too blurry to be real – he got up and got dressed, assuming he had somehow undressed himself in his sleep, or maybe he'd gotten undressed before bed and had passed out before putting his pajamas on. Either way, he blamed everything on the large amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before.

This reasoning would've been perfectly sufficient for him had he not found a familiar purple hoodie lying under his clothes from the night before.

He left his bedroom, hangover relentless, to find his sister asleep on the couch, still fully clothed except for her shoes… and the memory of what he'd been told during his "dream" came back to him: "_…Carly's asleep in the living room…_" He shook his head and assured himself it was just a weirdly accurate dream.

Just as he was about to stumble his way into the kitchen, Sam came down the stairs, still in her pajamas, blonde hair messy from sleep. She waved a casual greeting to him and was about to turn towards the kitchen when he noticed that her eyes spotted the hoodie in his hand. She stopped and walked over to him, taking it from him.

"Huh, so that's where that went," she said nonchalantly, then turned and jogged back upstairs to put it with her other clothes.

He decided to keep his dream to himself, and told himself that she must've gotten really drunk at her New Year's Eve party and showered in his bathroom instead of Carly's. It made sense after all. And it _was_ just a dream… there was no way it could've been real.

_Because,_ he thought silently, _she would've said something by now._

**to be continued…**

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**Author's Note: **Here I am again, showing up sporadically to upload a very random iCarly fic. I realize the series is over now and I'm not even sure anyone in the fandom still writes or reads fics, but I started writing this back in 2009 and when I stumbled across it a few months ago, I was hit with inspiration and felt the urge to finish it and here's what I came up with. I personally think it's one of my better pieces but I'll leave that up to you guys. If any of you take the time to read this, just know that I appreciate it greatly, and I would appreciate it even more if you took the time to leave me a review with your thoughts. I'll update this either in a couple of days or sooner - depending on if I get reviews or not - and I will continue posting it so that it's up in its entirety within a week's time. Again, thank you for reading and I appreciate any comments or criticism you may have for me. And as always, you can always PM me if you have any questions or just want to chat.  
P.S.: If you were a reader of my multichapter Spam story, "You Were There" - I'm working on the last chapter and probably an epilogue and/or prologue so keep an eye out for those as well, if you're interested.


	3. Martin Luther King, Jr Day

**Part 3  
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day**

The third time it happened really was a dream.

He had tried with all his might not to, but he just couldn't keep himself from rethinking New Year's Eve over and over. Nearly every night, it seemed, the same images popped up in his head and those blurry scenes replayed themselves. He scolded himself and felt ashamed, knowing he shouldn't be having these sorts of thoughts. But eventually, the shame faded away and he convinced himself that it was just a drunken dream brought on by who-knows-what and it wasn't his fault – after all, it's not like he could control what he dreamt about.

This made him feel better and eased the thoughts away at the same time. He stopped thinking about it so much and didn't need to, well, _relieve_ the stress on some particular nights anymore. Not to mention, Sam hadn't so much as glanced at him any differently since the new year began. He felt much better.

Then he fell down the stairs. Yes, being the clumsy person that he was, this was somewhat of a common occurrence and he usually hopped right up and went about his day albeit a few scratches and bruises. This time, however, he fell especially hard and the pain in his back refused to go away for the next week. He found himself so uncomfortable one night that he couldn't even sleep and his doctor's appointment to find out what he'd done to himself wasn't for another two days, so he took Socko up on his offer of a pain pill or two. He didn't like taking pills from other people, but in this case, he was desperate to get a little sleep.

The pills made him loopy for a short while and then quickly had the drowsiness effect he'd been hoping for. As he lay in bed, his eyelids falling like there were lead weights attached to them, he involuntarily thought about New Year's Eve once again. Just as he was about to scold himself, though, he drifted off into unconsciousness and the thoughts slowly formed into dreams – rather vivid dreams, at that.

As most of his dreams did, they came to him in bits and pieces first before merging into one fully-fledged movie-like experience.

At first, all he saw was that familiar mess of blonde curls and he could feel the trail of sensation they left across his chest. Then he smelled that blueberry scent and his body almost immediately responded. He winced and blinked and suddenly the head of blonde hair was gone, replaced instead by Socko's landlady lying next to him in bed. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out and the creepy old lady only smiled up at him. But just as quickly as she appeared, she left. Instead, he was staring straight ahead, across his bedroom, to see Sam standing against the wall in what could only be described as lingerie.

It was a red corset-type piece, strapless, that attached to red garter belts on her thighs, which held up lacy, red, thigh-high stockings. There were blood red high heels on her small feet which she stood uncharacteristically confident in. She had one hand on her hip and her head cocked to one side, her eyes looking Spencer up and down as if sizing him up. He felt his body respond once more and for some reason, he didn't even find it odd that she was dressed this way and standing in his bedroom.

"I'm not even legal, y'know," she muttered as she closed in on him, placing her palms flat on his bed and slowly lifting herself up on it to crawl towards him.

A shiver ran through him and he wanted to respond, but he couldn't seem to form any words. All he could do was watch as she got closer and closer.

Then she was gone. Well, to be fair, everything was gone – the lights had gone out, apparently, and everything around him was dark. He figured out she wasn't actually gone, though, when he heard her breathing inches from his face and that wonderful scent entered his nostrils once more. A sort of elation ran through him and he didn't even feel guilty about it.

He felt her small hands on his bare chest and reached his own down to run along the sides of her body, only to find the lingerie gone and only bare skin in its place. He bit his lip and knew where all of his blood was currently rushing but continued anyway, letting her push him down to a laying position and straddle him, her hair engulfing his face as she planted kisses from his collarbone up to his ear. His hands made their way down her sides and to her slender hips, where he firmly took hold and pulled her closer.

Her hot breath was in his ear now and there were goosebumps on every part of his body that could possibly _have_ goosebumps. He knew he was getting overly excited but he continued anyway, letting her capture his lips with her own. Her mouth tasted only of fried chicken this time, which was something he thoroughly expected. What he didn't expect was her teeth softly nibbling on his lower lip, causing him to dig his fingers into the flesh of her hips as he tried to control himself.

She moaned quietly from her throat and he felt the vibrations all the way to the pit of his stomach. He let go of her hips now and wrapped his arms around her instead, pulling her in closer until their bare fronts were pressed together. He kissed her harder, not wanting to let her go because he had a feeling she would leave again and he'd have even more unanswered questions.

But she continued kissing him. He kissed back and didn't object when she began grinding against him. It was getting harder and harder to control himself at this point. She smiled against his lips in satisfaction and he knew that, once again, she was getting exactly what she wanted. But was it what he wanted, too?

She suddenly reached a hand up and gripped his throat. He gasped and pulled back, but her grip tightened. He heard her laugh from somewhere off in the distance.

Then he was awake.

He blinked at the early morning sun that peeked through the curtains to find his face and looked down to realize he'd tossed and turned like crazy during his sleep, causing his sheet to be wrapped all around his body, one corner tightened around his throat. That would explain the choking he'd felt… He was sprawled out all over the bed and it was damp beneath him as he moved to loosen the bedsheet from around his throat and toss it to the side. He must've sweated a lot through the night, but it was undoubtedly the best sleep he'd gotten since hurting his back.

And, of course, his "excitement" had found its way from his dream into reality.

He heard Sam's distant laugh once more and found himself surprised before he realized she was in the living room and was accompanied by the sound of Carly's voice. He let out a sigh of relief.

However, he couldn't help but feel even guiltier, especially since he'd just had that dream.

"What have you done to me?" he whispered to his empty bedroom, slowly realizing that Sam had penetrated the most sensitive parts of his memory and thoughts somehow. "_Get out of my head_."

**to be continued…**

* * *

**Fun Fact: **I didn't realize the irony of the title of this chapter until I'd given it said title.


	4. Valentine's Day

**Part 4  
Valentine's Day**

The fourth time it happened was technically the third, considering the third time had only been a dream.

This time, however, Spencer had no doubt in his mind that it was real.

As with the first two times, he was fairly drunk. Not Christmas Eve drunk or even New Year's Eve drunk - he liked to call this "bad date" drunk.

The worst part was that he didn't even plan on drinking. He'd managed to score a date with the hot medical assistant at his doctor's office. He dressed in one of his finest suits and showed up at her doorstep to take her to a nice restaurant, which he'd reserved a table in two weeks prior to Valentine's Day. Halfway through dinner, he realized she was a thrill-seeking Irish girl who drank beer with almost every meal and preferred a night of karaoke and drinking at the bar to dinner and a movie. So, hoping to get on her good side, he skipped the 8:30 movie he'd originally planned and instead took her to one of Seattle's most popular Irish pubs. In retrospect, this was probably a bad idea.

His date turned out to have a rather high tolerance for alcohol compared to him. In the first hour they were at the pub, she convinced him to match her shot-for-shot on whiskey, resulting in his being drunk enough to volunteer to do karaoke by the second hour. He sang a very slurred rendition of Journey and then vowed to himself to stick to beer for the remainder of the night so as not to completely diminish his chances of possibly being invited back to her place.

However, that plan turned out not to work quite as well as he'd hoped. After his third beer, she insisted he take another shot with her. As soon as they'd slammed their shot glasses down on the bar, she leaned over and kissed him rather aggressively before grabbing his hand and leading him out the side door to the smoking area with a grin.

Once outside, there were only a few people having cigarettes, so she pushed him against the brick wall of the building and started kissing him. He found himself happy but at the same time nauseous. He tried to push it away though, and continued making out with her, pulling her in closer to him. Before he realized what was happening, he felt that familiar sting rising in his throat and quickly parted lips with her, trying to push her back and away from him, but not in nearly enough time. He'd only pushed her away a few inches before vomit spewed from his mouth and all over the front of her clearly expensive dress.

He'd really liked that dress on her, too.

Her face was full of shock quickly followed by utter outrage and disgust.

_Oh, God,_ he thought. _I can see the chunks of lobster…_

"_Seriously_?!" she cried, staring at him incredulously. Before he could apologize or try to explain himself, she reached up and slapped him quite possibly harder than he'd ever been slapped before in his life.

Needless to say, he ended up paying the full bar tab and taking a cab home alone.

When he got to the loft, his head still swimming with whiskey, beer, and a hint of humiliation, he found only the living room light on and the apartment seemingly empty. He assumed Carly was sleeping in her room so he turned off the light and retired to his bedroom. After changing into pajama pants and vigorously brushing his teeth, he collapsed on his bed in an exhausted and still drunk heap. Within minutes, he was asleep.

"_Oh, Spencer…"_

It felt like he'd only been asleep a few seconds but when he opened his eyes to find his room still pitch black, he knew it had to be the middle of the night. Something tickled his face and the overwhelming scent of shampoo and blueberries invaded his nostrils. He realized his face was engulfed in a mess of curly hair and there was a light weight on top of him. His attention quickly shot to the stiffened need under his cotton pajama pants and the insistent stroking he felt through the cloth.

Damn – he shouldn't have gone commando tonight.

Soft, damp lips trailed kisses across his collarbone and down his chest, slowing at his navel. He blinked rapidly and felt a dull pounding in his head. He'd only managed to sleep off enough alcohol to give him the beginning of a hangover, but the rest of him was still immersed in whiskey.

The aching need in his pants continued, antagonized by the tickling of hair and kisses all over his torso.

"Is this… a dream?" he whispered out to no one in particular.

He heard a faint giggling, that familiar hint of mischief all too clear. "Yes… It's just a dream."

_Liar_, he thought.

He shut his eyes and tried to drift back to sleep, to ignore the weight on top of him and the terribly awesome sensations being left all over his bare skin. But it was impossible. He felt the drawstring of his pants being pulled and then a tugging on the waist as they slid down to his thighs. He clumsily reached down and grabbed the small hands.

"No – _OW_!"

He pulled his hands back immediately when he realized she'd bitten one of them and continued on her endeavor to remove his pajama pants. They were yanked the rest of the way down his legs and then pulled off his feet and tossed who-knows-where. He felt her lips around his navel again, then slowly trailing down, down, down…

Before he knew what was happening, he was swallowed up by pure pleasure. A moan escaped his lips and he gulped, pursing them shut. His eyes were shut tight, still praying for the sleep that he knew would definitely never come at this point. He reached down with his bitten hand and carefully grabbed a handful of soft, curly hair. He tugged lightly, still trying to stifle the moans that resided in his throat.

The pleasure stopped – too soon, for his liking – and the weight lifted from his legs where she'd been resting her arms. He assumed she'd given up and left but he didn't hear or see his bedroom door open. Just as he sat up to look at the clock, those small hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down on top of her petite frame, bringing him down so his mouth met hers. He steadied himself with his hands on either side of her and pressed his hips into hers. He felt the need between his legs grow even worse from the heat he felt between hers. With one hand, she held his head steady and kissed him roughly, while the other scrambled to pull off her panties and discard them.

He gasped when he felt her direct him where to go, their bodies merged into one now. She moaned into his mouth and her smile was evident against his lips. The pounding in his head subsided as the remnants of the whiskey took over once more.

The walls of his room echoed with their heavy breathing, his face in her neck now and her mouth against his ear. Her soft moans rang through his head and he was still questioning himself as to whether this was a dream or not. But in the next moment, the intensity of the pure ecstasy that coursed through his veins dissolved all doubt of reality he might have had. Those sharp nails dug into his back and he lifted one hand from the bed to cup one of her breasts.

It definitely felt too real to be a dream.

Before he could collect himself, she had slid out from underneath him and was somewhere in the distant dark, the shuffling of clothing faint. He collapsed on the bed and rolled over onto his back, sighing. He tried to see through the dark, searching for even a silhouette as to where she might be in the room. Then that mess of curls tickled his chest and neck again and her lips were leaving a light kiss on his cheek.

"Go back to sleep… It was just a dream," she whispered, adding a quiet giggle.

He was asleep before his bedroom door had opened and closed.

**to be continued…**


	5. St Patrick's Day

**Part 5  
St. Patrick's Day**

The fifth time it happened, he was prepared.

It was St. Patrick's Day, better known as the nation's excuse to get completely hammered and wear green. Normally, Spencer would be spending this holiday just like he had every year: at Socko's, drinking green beer and debating on whether or not they should go out to a bar. Instead, when Carly proposed her idea to him of having a special webcast of iCarly in the loft during their St. Patrick's Day party with special St. Patrick's Day-themed skits, he found it a good enough reason to stay and supervise. He bought himself a case of beer and decided to drink solo just to make the teenagers' party a little more enjoyable.

Sam and Freddie showed up, as did a good majority of the trio's senior class. Everyone was dressed in green and sporting funny St. Patrick's hats, necklaces, and sunglasses. They served punch and snacks and the three friends let quite a few of their classmates guest star in the skits on their webcast. Spencer kept to himself, watching everyone have fun. They seemed to be really enjoying the punch so he decided to try it, finding it surprisingly delicious. But then again, everything Carly made was delicious so he didn't really question it.

He watched Sam from the corner of his eye for most of the night, but she didn't act any differently. He'd woken up after Valentine's Day and spent days trying to convince himself it really was just a dream, but he knew all too well what was reality now. The bite mark on his hand was very much real. He finally gave up trying to deny it and admitted to himself that she'd been taking advantage of him every opportunity she had. He was worried, though. Did she think she could do the same thing tonight? She probably assumed he was bound to get drunk again.

_Maybe I should just start locking my bedroom door_, he thought. But then he remembered her knack for lock-picking and knew it would be futile.

After the webcast was over and about half the kids had gone home, Spencer was getting his seventh glass of punch, shrugging off the swimming in his head towards having not eaten yet that day and having had a couple of beers earlier. He wondered if Sam had noticed how much he'd had to drink.

He sipped his glass of punch and watched as the remainder of the teenagers said their goodbyes to Carly, Sam, and Freddie and left for home. He then said goodbye to Freddie, who had to go home because of his mother, and grabbed one last glass of punch before shutting himself away in his bedroom, stripping down to his boxers and shutting off the light.

However, he decided not to lie down and go to sleep. Instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, his curtains parted so as to let in just enough of the city light and moonlight to cast a dim glow around the room, and sipped his glass of punch, finding the swimming in his head getting worse.

She would come. He knew she would. All he had to do was wait.

The living room went quiet and the light under his door disappeared. He heard footsteps on the stairs, indicating that the girls had gone up to Carly's room for the night. He let out a sigh of relief and set the empty glass down on his nightstand. He laid back and took a few deep breaths before a thought occurred to him.

He sat up and grabbed the empty glass, sticking it up to his nose and inhaling deeply.

_I should've known._

The click of his bedroom door shutting and locking grabbed his attention and he looked towards the sound. Sure enough, there was Sam, standing in front of the door with a half glass of punch in her hand and a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What're you doing?" he asked quietly, standing up and setting his empty glass back down on the nightstand.

She approached him quickly and silently, placing both small hands on his chest and pushing him back onto the bed. He tried to resist but she caught him by surprise and his balance was off, so he fell backwards onto the bed but managed to stay sitting up. He noticed she'd downed the last of her punch and tossed the empty cup to the floor before he'd even realized she was approaching him. She put her legs on either side of his and sat in front of him, straddling him before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in to meet her lips.

He couldn't help but give in to the soft kisses for just a moment before composing himself and pulling his head away. He grabbed both of her arms firmly and pushed her off, making her stand up and move back so that he could stand in front of her. He looked down and tried to focus on her face through those blonde curls but was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on anything at the moment. The knowing look on her face remained.

"You spiked the punch," he said. It wasn't a question rather than a statement – he already knew she did it, but he wanted her to know that he wasn't completely oblivious.

"And you drank it anyway," she whispered, shrugging his hands off of her arms and reaching up for his face.

He grabbed her hands and put them back at her sides. "No, that – that was wrong, Sam. _This_ is wrong. Whadd'you think you've been doing?"

Her look of confidence finally faltered and she gazed at him with slight confusion. "What have _you_ been doing? You never complained until now. Did I not put enough vodka in the punch bowl?"

He shook his head. "No, not again, Sam. You know, I've been trying to tell myself for months now that they were all dreams, that it didn't really happen, but I figured out what you've been doing… taking advantage of me like that."

Sam laughed and stepped back, giving him an incredulous look. "Taking _advantage_? What are you, a girl? All I did was seize a few opportunities. You never complained and you never resisted."

"Well, now I am," he blurted out, lowering his voice. "You're seventeen, Sam… what do you think you're going to accomplish from this?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Exactly. I'll be eighteen next month. And when have I ever tried to _accomplish_ anything?" She let out a slow breath and pursed her lips, adding quietly, "It's not like you would've done anything like that with me under any other circumstance… You can't try and tell me you didn't know I've had a crush on you forever – like I didn't drop enough hints over the last five years."

He didn't know what to say. He stared down at her in silence, still trying to steady his eyesight. This was a lot to take in at once. Yes, he'd noticed the hints, but just as soon as they'd been dropped, he'd shrugged them off as misinterpretation or just teenage hormones. He never thought she would take a "crush" so seriously and to this extent. She certainly had a knack for getting her way.

Her mouth grew back into a mischievous smirk and her stance turned unguarded. She stepped closer to him and wrapped a hand around his forearm, looking up at him with devilish blue eyes.

"Do you need to drink some more punch to convince yourself this is okay? That it's not your fault and that you're the victim?" she asked quietly. "Or can we just close the curtains and pretend you're having a really lucid dream…?"

He shivered at her words and felt her fingernails dig into the tender skin of his forearm. He tried to force his brain to think straight, to stick his head above the sea of vodka he was sinking into. But he couldn't think himself sober and as much as he hated to admit it, she had an unwelcoming effect on him.

_I knew I should've eaten some of those snacks earlier…_

"Does it need to be darker so you can pretend I'm someone else and make yourself feel better?" she whispered mockingly, leaning in and trailing soft kisses from the bottom of his neck up to his earlobe. His muscles tensed and she noticed, tightening her grip on his forearm. The crescent moon shapes left from her fingernails would linger on his skin for days.

She finally released him only to push him back onto the bed once more. He sighed and didn't bother attempting to stand up. The room went pitch black and he realized she'd swiftly moved to the windows and closed the curtains the rest of the way to shut out the city. He tried to readjust his eyesight but before he could, two small hands pressed lightly on his chest so he fell back to a laying position. He then felt a light weight hovering over him as she straddled him and leaned down, her headful of blonde curls tickling his bare torso and neck as she kissed from his chest up to his neck and face.

Something in him gave up, in a way, and he let the inevitable happen as the alcohol took over in the dark bedroom. His head spun as she stripped off his boxers and he soon found himself with the warmth of a petite, bare body pressed against him, silently begging him for every ounce of dignity he had left. And he obliged.

It was another blur – a mess of bedsheets and blueberry scented skin, the softest lips he had to admit he'd ever felt gracing his skin, and the familiar tickling of curly hair all over his body. He took in the sensation of her curves, running his hands over every crevice her body was hiding and found himself enjoying it a lot more than he probably should have.

The only time he caught a glimpse of her face in the blackness was when she lay down close enough to his digital alarm clock that the glow of the screen shone across to reveal not a look of triumph, but a look of pure gratification and content. It never occurred to him that this may have been more than simply getting what she wanted from him, more than the twisted game he thought she'd been playing.

He had his arms wrapped around her and under her back, his face buried in the nape of her neck, as his last moments of indulgence surged through him. His breathing was heavy and he felt her fingers reach up and stroke the base of his hairline above his neck, more of those soft kisses being left just in front of his right ear. He untangled himself from her small body and rolled over, heaving a sigh of defeat. He could feel the room starting to spin outside of his closed eyelids as the shame sunk deep into his pores.

The bed shifted as she got up and he heard her rummaging around to collect her clothes. He leaned up just in time to see her opening the bedroom door only wide enough to slip out.

"Is this…"

She stopped when she heard his voice and turned to him, waiting for him to finish.

"…This can't happen anymore. You know I won't let it."

She smirked and a small chuckle left her throat. "Just like you didn't let it happen tonight?"

"I'm serious. Please… don't do this anymore."

She continued smirking and whispered, "No promises."

And then she was gone.

**the end.**

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******A/N:** Please let me know why you liked or disliked the story and what you thought of the ending. Any feedback is appreciated and thank you for taking the time to read :) No idea on when my next story will be out but I'm working on the ending of_ You Were There_ as well as an epilogue/prologue so keep an eye out for that if you haven't already added it to your alerts.


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